


moving sidelong

by anstaar



Category: Johnny Maxwell - Terry Pratchett
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-20
Updated: 2012-12-20
Packaged: 2017-11-21 19:07:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/601115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anstaar/pseuds/anstaar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>now, he doesn't know if he is a boy dreaming of being a man or a man dreaming that he is a boy</p>
            </blockquote>





	moving sidelong

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lurrel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lurrel/gifts).



> this is a bit strange and doesn't really incorporate your optional details but I hope you like it

If you stand between two mirrors you can look out at a thousand, million other yous stretching out into the distance, forever. This is a useful way to introduce the concept of infinity to someone, as it places the person squarely in the middle of the universe. Of course, then a person might start to wonder whether you’re the one looking in the mirror or are you a reflection.

***

Captain John Maxwell sits on the uncomfortable plastic chair in the med-center (there’s always an uncomfortable plastic, or nearest equivalent, chair in these sorts of places. There’s probably a zlug on planet Zeta 4 waiting to get his twisted psued looked at wondering why the sloshbog was so uncomfortable. You can only assume that after having to spend a great deal of time sitting on a chair which, though never very comfortable, has grown to torturous levels of pain with only long out of date magazines, with all the interesting articles ripped out, to distract you, merely being sick doesn't seem that bad.). It used to just be Pilot Maxwell but after the military tribunal he had ended up a captain and cashiered out of the fleet.

(What he had said was this: do you know that the scree-wee’s own name for themselves is human? We made an agreement, a long time ago, that there are things that people don’t do to one another. We didn't do that because people won’t do awful stuff to each other but because they do. People have to care about people. Mostly, we’re not really any good at it but if not us, then who? I think that the trouble is we’re actually really good at hurting each other but civilization means not always doing what’s easy. If those choices don’t matter when we’re at war then when do they matter? War is the most important time for us to remember stuff we've made up about what’s right because that’s when it’s easiest to forget. It’s not just dots on the screen. You can’t kill people who've surrendered; it doesn't matter if they look like giant crocodiles.)

(In all honesty, the reason he wasn't spending the rest of his days living on an asteroid was probable more to do with the fact Sigourney had spoken up for him. You couldn't ignore Sigourney. Sigourney won things. Sigourney didn't understand how to lose. John knew a lot about losing. In the end, when they had smiled, because the war was over and it didn't really matter to them anymore, and shaken his hand before he was sent away, John suspected Sigourney didn't understand that they had still lost.)

John hadn't even really intended to join the fleet in the first place. There had just been the signs, ‘You Could Save Mankind,’ and his instructors had remarked on his capability in G-Space. John had gone where he was told, he usually did. The problem was, he was told a lot of things.

The med-center is cold. It felt like the plastic is leeching the heat out of his legs. John sits as the Doctor bustles around him, checking on the machines and chatting lightly. The man’s serious, dark face is familiar. John has never seen him before in his life. They were told this might happen. Well they weren't really told. The people in charge said that moving through g-space could give you a new perspective on life. The old hands said that it could drive you mental. That’s why most people were so rubbish at it, they said, the brain’s defense against you going totally round the bed. You just had to look at the screen in front of you and not think about it. John had thought about it.

“ You've been having strange dreams, then,” the (not) familiar doctor says with a smile, “not to worry. Useful things, dreams, they help you process what’s happened to you. Sort out your experiences.”

John considers this, “I don’t think so,” he says carefully, “I think I’d remember.”

***

For most people, the universe is a very small place. It’s a protection measure, of sorts. As it has been said, if a person could see, if they experienced just a tiny fraction of all the truly amazing events that are constantly occurring all around them (the majestic life of trees, the shine of dew drying on a new butterfly’s wings, the mathematical arc of a birds flight) they would most likely get hit by a car. The human mind’s remarkable capacity for boredom might be the only thing that keeps human civilizations from crumbling. It’s like space, wonderful and awful all wrapped into one. There’s something to be said, for example about the similarities between Gods and aliens. Both tend to care about humans. Johnny often thought that, considering how big the universe was, aliens would have a few more interesting things to do then go about caring what humans were doing. Of course, Johnny’s universe was unusually large.

***

“What do you reckon it means, you know, to be grown up?” Johnny said interrupting Yo-less and Wobbler’s rather half-hearted argument on the merits of the latest Alabama Smith film (Bigmac had rated it very highly on his personal scale of ‘number of heads blown off’).

“What do you mean, what does it mean,” Wobbler asked, “What do you think? It’s being old and going on about stuff.” He waved a vague hand.

“Having a job,” Yo-less suggested.

“Or not having a job,” said Bigmac, “round here its mostly not having a job.”

“I don’t have a job,” Wobbler pointed out.

“Yeah, but, not one care about you not having a job, everyone goes on about grownups not working.”

“My grandma goes on about me not working,” Wobbler said, “she says young people used to be employed and the world was a lot better.”

“Yeah, well, that’s your gran, the world always used to be a better place to grandmas. Didn't she also say the world used to be better when everyone had to do National Service?”

“Besides,” Yo-less said, “ didn't you listen; getting an education is our job.”

They all considered this. “It’s not a very good one,” Wobbler ventured finally.

“Yeah, the bosses are rubbish,” Bigmac agreed.

Wobbler took another chip. “It’s pretty pointless anyway, especially maths. What’s the point of needing to pass all those tests; I have practical experience.”

“Wrecking your dad’s computer isn't practical experience,” Bigmac paused, “not good practical experience, anyway.”

“Yeah, if wrecking things was good practical experience Bigmac would stop driving cars into walls.”

“I almost had it,” Bigmac said defensively.

“You almost had it off the road into the pond.”

“Yeah, well, I figure they should build cars a bit more sturdily,” Bigmac paused a second, “and walls too. It had no right to just go falling apart like that.”

“I think,” Yo-less interrupted, I think it’s when people start listening to you.”

“Yeah,” Wobbler nodded, “when you’re grown up people don’t go around saying ‘you’ll understand when older,’ when you try to tell ‘em something.” Johnny considered. Personally, he believed that most people, whatever the age, never really listened at all. They just didn't listen differently.

***

A useful way to understand the difference between awful and wonderful is to imagine a waterfall. Standing, looking up at a raging waterfall a person is stricken with wonder at its might roar and the fine rainbow of simmering mist that lend a delicate beauty to this raging of unstopped nature. Stuck in a barrel, seconds from going over the top of the waterfall, on the other hand, the person finds themselves full of awe at the true strength of the water and at the remembrance of just how sharp and numerous those rocks at the bottom of the falls are. The problem with life is most of the time you can’t tell whether you’re watching or in the barrel.

***

Private Jackie Maxwell dreams of silence. It’s not proper sleep. Hunkering down in a bloody, muddy hole, knowing exactly what else was down there. Hearing the rats chewing through something (bloody well fed rats, Oliver says, bloody is right, Paul says (George used to glare at them for saying things like that and Tommy would say he was trying smoke his damn cigarette in peace and if they wanted one they’d all better shut up and little Smith would offer a quote and they’d all tell him to shove it. Now George is in hospital, if it was just his leg that’d been hit, and Tommy was gone and Smith didn’t say anything anymore)). This wasn’t living. Dying was just like going to sleep a mate had told Jackie once and he figured that if that was true you had to be alive before you could sleep.

Still, Jackie dreams. They’re silent. The roar of the guns and the screams and the talk is all gone. It’s completely still. The quiet of space, he would say, but he’s never thought of space like this. He’s watching a screen covered with moving dots of light. It should be a peaceful dream. He knows enough of his fellows can’t escape the fight, however tightly closed their eyes. Somehow, though, it’s horrible because Jack knows that every dot is hundreds of people, more, and every time he looks there are less of them.

***

The thing about history is that, when you look at it properly, everything is history, even things that haven’t happened yet. And, and this is the important bit, therefore history can never really be looked at properly until you find how everything ends up and then, as it were, it’s probably too late to bother caring.

***

“You dreamin’ again, Johnny,” Wobbler asked.

“Everyone dreams,” Johnny said.

“Yeah, well,” Wobbler said, “when you dream, sometimes things get weird.”

“I heard somewhere,” Bigmac said, “where this man didn’t know if he was dreaming about being a butterfly or if he was a butterfly dreaming he was a man.”

“I think I’d know the difference,” Wobbler said, “it seems to me that there is a pretty clear difference between being a butterfly and being a man. Like, if you were a butterfly you would think ‘that was a bloody weird dream I just had about being a human’ because you wouldn’t be able to think.”

“That’s only philosophy. Dreams are just the minds way of processing events,” Yo-less said.

“Huh,” said Bigmac, “then what’s up with tap dancing elephants? I’ve never seen any tap dancing elephants.”

“They’re a metaphor, for something else.”

“I can’t think of what sort of metaphor a tap dancing elephant would be, doesn’t seem much like anything to me.” They paused.

“Maybe you’re really a tap dancing elephant dreaming of being Bicmac.”

“Maybe it means just that something weird happened, that you’re processing” Yo-less suggested, having not yet reached the elephant portion of dream psychology.

“Yeah well, I’m having a dream about dancing animals, that’s something pretty weird that’s happened.”

Johnny considered dreams as his friends argued. The problem was, he suspected, that he was processing events that had happened to other people. He sighed.

***

If you open yourself up to the universe, the universe might come in. It’s a dangerous prospect. When you pour red dye into a glass of water the water turns red. When you pour red dye into the ocean the ocean washes it away. All a person has is locked inside themselves, but sometimes it’s okay to open a window for a little while.

***

“It’s happening again, isn’t it,” Kirsty snapped, her hands on her hips. Johnny blinked, he had almost forgotten he was sitting on the wall outside her house. “I recognize that look.”

“What look,” Johnny asked.

“That weird look you get when you’re thinking about strange things.”

“Just thinking about school, I guess.”

Kristy raised an eyebrow (Kristy could raise one eyebrow, Johnny always ended up with a weird squint), “finally thinking about your future?” When people say they’re thinking about the future, Johnny thought, it really means they’re trying not to think of the future. The real future isn’t passing exams and getting jobs, that’s just your future.

“um, a future.”

Kristy sighed, “I thought it might be something a little stranger.” She glared at the distance. “Why is it that in books people always stop having adventures when they get older, just in time for them to learn how to do it right?”

“um, I dunno, they get too sensible, I suppose.”

“I have always been very sensible, _actually_. I think they’re just not trying hard enough.”

“Well, I guess you have less time when you’re older.”

“The way you organize yourself I’m surprised you ever have any time to do anything.”

Johnny shrugged. The purpose of real life was to build up barriers to stop your mind from being steamrolled by the universe. Stuff like hanging around the mall, going to school, every little pointless thing that gave your life meaning as something separate from just the vast rush of pure life. You didn't need time to do things, they just happened.

Things could never stay the same. But then, what was wrong with that. Johnny knew quite a lot about history. One of the best things about time was that every second was taking you farther away from the past, however bad the future might be at least you didn't know for sure.

Johnny sat; the future and the past spinning behind his eyes. You could always tell the difference, even if it was only that in one you hadn't been born and in the other you were already dead. Tomorrow was another day and, when you thought about it, so was yesterday. Considering everything it was most likely a bad idea to go down to the old quarry, where they said people had seen weird lights, with his luck he would end up in the middle of something difficult. Sometimes, Johnny decided, growing up was to know something would be hard, and doing it anyway.

***

In a hall of mirrors, surrounded by your reflections, it’s almost impossible to grasp infinity. You might, though, understand a little bit about reality. 

(In a future that may never happen a single man speaks out and in a past that might never exsisted a young soldier puts down his gun)

Johnny Maxwell dreams.


End file.
